


i’ll pay my weight in blood to feel my nerves wake up

by shslduelist (joeri)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Crush at First Sight, Falling In Love, Freeform, Lowercase, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Stream of Consciousness, Touch-Starved, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeri/pseuds/shslduelist
Summary: make me feel something, something.show me that i’m human.





	i’ll pay my weight in blood to feel my nerves wake up

**Author's Note:**

> the writings from yusakus pov so the lines about him not being a “real boy” are from his negative self-image of himself and are not accurate (or my pov for that matter.) trans boys are real boys obvs.

all yusaku wants is to make the emptiness go away.

day by day, a blur of classes and people and planets go by. clouds pass overhead and the cavity in his chest where a heart once sat sits neglected and barren.

yusaku goes to the doctor and feels like he’s going to pass out when he presses one hand to his shoulder, the other to his back with a stethoscope to see the state of his heart. he breathes in, and out, and trembles at the warmth.

he wants hugs. he wants heat.

the ceiling in yusaku’s apartment feels further away than it needs to be. he fears in his sleep that the roof will close in on him like a trap and crush him to death in a single second. as he gets older, he stops fearing it, starts actively wishing for the night to come. hopes he doesn’t remember a thing.

kusanagi helps him to his feet as he stumbles from the vrains and his powerful hands, at his shoulders and his sides are trying to make a disaster out of him. he can’t breathe almost. the touch is like fire. it scalds and scalds.

ai clambers from his duel disc at night sometimes when yusaku’s nightmares come creeping, come terrorizing him and driving all manner of sweat and tears out of him, stirring up his head with the unforgettable, the terrible. ai curls around his face, voice digitized and soft, surprisingly human. yusaku screws each eye shut. he can’t take it. _can’t take it._

perhaps, he’s touch-repulsed. after so long with no one to hold his hand, kiss boo-boo’s better, run their hands through his hair before bedtime and tuck him in, sit beside him or hold him. that has to be it. the reason why yusaku freezes, feels a terror and a searing ache at his core. it feels wrong and right.

he wants more. but can’t stand it.

touch-sensitive maybe. from some people, it’s unwanted. every time shima rests his arm on yusaku’s shoulder, he picks it off like tomatoes from a salad. with others, yusaku broils. kusanagi’s familial embrace is like heaven, and hell.

he wants more. he yearns for normality, to be touched so often in such a basic, friendly way that it no longer inspires him to tremble, shake and feel unnerved.

there’s something wrong with him, probably. yusaku thinks so. no one else seems so caught off guard to be hugged or caught around the neck in a casual embrace. no one else fights back nausea, a panic attack, a sudden craving to cry.

yusaku knows this. that’s what makes the addition of takeru so… _difficult._

takeru throws an arm around yusaku and tugs him close like it’s nothing, like yusaku’s a living thing and not a shell. it’s alarming. takeru holds up french fries dipped in ice cream and expects yusaku to lean in for one, without prompting or asking. takeru does these things… and yusaku falls in love too hard, too fast.

his touch feels okay and yusaku wants to throw up.

sat in front of the television, video game controllers in their hands, pizza rolls in their mouth, yusaku shivers. takeru’s knee presses against his and there’s a closeness and a consistency to it. takeru always sits so close. the heat from takeru in every accidental nudge is enough to light every stick of dynamite in his body. yusaku doesn’t scoot away. he welcomes the fire, houses the flame.

a horror movie night, takeru winces and cringes and clings to his arm. yusaku holds back his noises that coil up from his core: how it feels to be physically near another person. how it feels to feel real and feel in the moment and wanted. takeru falls asleep at his shoulder, head crooked. yusaku rights it. yusaku lays him down against the couch and sees the sleeping body breathe, chest rising and falling like regular people do.

but takeru’s an angel. he has to be, to him. he has to be to see something in him that he can’t see. something magic and necessary. or foolish enough to stay by his side. yusaku wonders if his own chest rises when he sleeps in the night. still wishes for the roof to cave in and lock him up and crush him slow.

wonders if takeru doesn’t see a hollow existence when he takes yusaku by the hand and links them slow, and makes him shake and leaves him crying. never in front of him, but yusaku finds the cleanest side of the pillow just to cry, body rattling with the aching, the knowing, the growing. his love that he can’t contain. the unfairness, the _disgusting_ truth of it.

they’re just friends, and takeru doesn’t know the truth—that yusaku isn’t… a real boy, a facsimile, a great attempt, somewhat of a copy. yusaku curls his legs up and breathes powdery puffs of air into his knees beneath a comforter, withholding vomit and agony and saving the tears for when his friend on the couch in the living room has fallen asleep and can’t _possibly_ hear him. it’s like this every time.

yusaku fights the feeling back every single time.

since the second they locked eyes, yusaku felt that unknowable sensation round itself up in his gut. it felt like flowers and candy and cake and his whole head spun on his neck until his thoughts made themselves crystal and translucent and clear: it was crush at first sight. it was as immediate as a punch to the stomach could be. it was as gentle as dandelions when they push through your teeth and poke holes through your cheeks. it was beautiful and terrifying and nothing he’s known.

so he fights back the feeling and he tries to let go.

amusement park dates. coffee dates, dog park dates (the kind where takeru points out which ones he’d steal if he were a bad person, which he’s not.) anything short of something romantic, they’re there and they’re there together, and yusaku can feel his heart slipping back into place, doing what it should do: loving and loving hard, but he is afraid.

yusaku is afraid. of sending too many messages, of being too free, too available, too _needy._ he keeps himself stoic. he keeps himself far. he lets takeru come to him and in the time between, he _rots._ he keeps notes to himself to relax. notes to himself to calm down. notes to takeru about the dream he had last night where they kissed under the stars and notes to himself to _calm down._

he is frightened of feeling too much entirely too fast. frightened of what could befall him should soulburner be taken out in a fight. frightened of what could take over him should takeru lean too closely. frightened of himself and the monstrous thing in his chest.

that thing he thought didn’t exist anymore, broken as a child, broken beyond repair. it now sits, voracious, starving and aching like hell. if only a single touch of takeru’s hand could heal, that would suffice. if only holding him near like a friend, like a _brother_ could make it all slip away, yusaku would be fine. he wants to be fine.

knowing deeply that there’s a great black hole that wants to suck it all inside because he’ll never be satisfied, yusaku bites back every thought he has and strangles himself to keep his love down, keep it suppressed and keep it hidden as takeru passes him a hot dog, poking it against his cheek and smearing ketchup against his mouth.

takeru grins, gem-sparkle in his teeth. his cheekbones could fit just like diamonds in the palm of yusaku’s hands and he hates himself for wanting to listen on and on to him all day. no matter the topic, no matter the time. yusaku waxes poetic silently over how gentle he is, how soft and kind he can be, how fiery and passionate he’s always been. yusaku caves in on himself when takeru’s there to hold him up, find something pure and good in him, something light and glowing and yusaku hates himself for the orchestration.

there’s nothing valuable inside him. there’s nothing pure about this love.

he’s a liar. he’s no boy. he craves too much and knows if takeru could see even an inch inside of his mind, he’d recoil back and leave him all alone.

the inside of his head is dark. he hides in the corner of a classroom, hides up under the desk or slumps over it. yusaku finds a small place to sequester himself into, wishing the roof would cave, wishing his body would shut down.

takeru just feels good. takeru can’t know the truth: can’t know that yusaku wants to cling and climb inside and be at home, find a home there in him and in no one else, _no one ever._ takeru just makes it go away and it’s all he’s ever wanted.

all yusaku’s ever wanted is to make the emptiness go away.

knowing the price, he shrugs.

says, “no thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> thought about “feel something” by jaymes young as yusaku the other day and ofoffhffgg i guess


End file.
